


Amen

by CopaceticBrainBox



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Daddy Kink, M/M, Multi, Orgy, Pink Panties, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, engaged cockles, jail cell, spiritual shaman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-13
Updated: 2016-02-13
Packaged: 2018-05-20 01:13:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5987194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CopaceticBrainBox/pseuds/CopaceticBrainBox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Misha's everyones Daddy, but is he THE Daddy? (God) Yes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Amen

**Author's Note:**

> This is for the SPN Coldest Hits challenge. I have not actually lost my mind. It is not meant to make sense.

In hindsight, Misha really should’ve realized the pyrotechnics were too much for him to handle that deep into a bottle of a vodka. But in foresight, or ya know, whatever the fuck happens before hindsight, it had seemed like a very good idea to put all the fireworks in a mound and throw his lighter into the pile.

They were right next to the ocean, and he was wearing his water wings so he figured it was safe.

Apparently the cops didn’t agree. Whatever. It had still been pretty goddamn _magnificent._ The singed eyebrows were a small price to pay. Well, and getting thrown in an overnight holding cell for a number of things.

He really should’ve just gone quietly. But he was a drunk idiot so he ran. And then his pants fell down.

Pink lace underwear and water wings weren’t necessarily a _bad_ fashion choice, but the fellas in the holding cell with him didn’t really seem to appreciate it all that much.

Thank god these water wings were filled with more booze. He would _not_ survive this night if the drunken fog he was currently in lifted. Or if Jen found out about this. Fuck. Jensen was definitely gonna find out about this.

He started sipping from the water wing on his right arm, a large bald man that looked like he was the leader of a biker gang shot him a death glare as he did so. Misha winked and waved his fingers at the man.

There was a loud banging and some shouting over by the front desk then before a gruff police officer was shouting at the four people in the holding cell to “GET BACK AGAINST THE WALL! GET BACK!” And then Jensen was thrown into the holding cell.

Misha squinted at Jensen’s form, wondering if maybe it was just another man with supermodel good looks and bright green eyes. He was incredibly drunk so, he wouldn’t put it past himself to confuse his fiance for a perfect stranger. “Jen?”

Jensen swiveled, momentarily becoming three people before his form solidified. “Mish? What are _you_ doing on this rainbow? Whoa, Mish, you got like, super muscular arms.”

The bald man sighed and tipped his head against the bars. “Great. The idiots know each other.”

“Wait… wha?” Misha eloquently slurred, getting to his feet and stumbling over to Jensen, placing his hands on his shoulders and squinting hard to focus on his face. “What did you take?”

“Nothing!” Jensen exclaimed, eyes wide and focused on Misha before he got distracted, looking all around them and swatting at the air. “Damn bees everywhere…”

“Did you drank the red- the uh… wussit called? The koolaid?”

“Yeah I drank so much of the koolaid,” Jensen responded in a daze, eyes roaming all around them.

“That was _filled_ with acid.” Misha started to laugh then, a mad cackle that echoed off the walls. He wheezed to a stop, coughing and schooling his drunken features as best as he could, hands out at his sides in a placating gesture. “s all good. I am a bit of the drunk, but I can still be your spi-spiruptual guide through this harrowing journey.”

Jensen’s eyes widened about as far as they could. “Misha… are you god?”

“In a sense, yes. In another sense, no. It’s all in the eye of the person who… looks. With the eye,” Misha replied, very shaman-like if he did say so himself. “Let’s take a seat, young padawon, because this jail cell is spinnin’ like a _bitch.”_

Misha sat down cross legged in the center of the jail cell, looking into the face of every other person that had been arrested and thrown in here this wondrous night. There was the scowl of the bald biker with the potbelly and torn jean vest. The half asleep, or more likely stoned, slack jawed man with curly red hair that went down to his shoulders and a stained t-shirt. The pursed lips and neatly crossed legs of the drag queen that kept popping his gum, eyeliner smudged around his eyes. And then Jensen, sat on the ground across from him.

He smiled warmly at his fiance and extended his hands to him. Jensen’s soft palms met his. Jen was a little pale and sweaty, lines under his eyes darker than normal, usually impeccably styled hair matted and sticking to his forehead.

“We are _all_ on a journey tonight,” Misha announced to the holding cell at large, waving one hand out to the side in a grand gesture, wide smile on his face. “Come closer my children, drink from my teat and be merry!”

Everyone but Jensen met him with blank looks, Jensen giggled and lapped at one of his nipples.

 _“Oh.”_ Misha squirmed a bit under Jen’s tongue, threading fingers through his hair to pull him back. “Not that teat.” He decided to try a new tactic with the rest of the group. “I have booze in my water wings. If you join us on this journey you can have as much as you want.”

A wide smile lit up his face as all three of them scampered forward, kneeling down on the concrete. Misha flung his arms out wide and let the three of them take turns drinking from his water wings and intoxicating themselves even more than they surely already were. When they were sufficiently rosy cheeked and glassy-eyed, Misha laid back on the cool concrete, letting his eyes slide shut.

“Now everyone place your hands on me and shut your eyes.”

He felt four pairs of hands situate themselves on his mostly naked body. He was pretty sure Jensen was the one who had gone for the upper thighs.

 

~~~

 

Now, Misha had been a spiritual shaman for people stoned out of their mind on multiple occasions. But never had one gotten so…

 _“Oh,”_ Misha moaned, back arching up against the concrete. “You’ve got some thick fingers, Greg.”

Greg, the biker, pushed a third spit-slicked finger inside of him, it was not comfortable, at all, but Misha had always been a bit of a masochist, and those thick fingers kept on stroking his prostate _so_ deliciously.

Delicate, manicured fingers ran slowly up his bare arms, holding them firmly above his head as Lucy, the drag queen, sucked Misha’s fingers into that cherry red mouth one at a time.

Jensen’s pretty pink lips were busy sucking a bruise over his hip, so close to the cock that lay heavy and flushed against his belly.

Dylan, the curly-haired stoner was mouthing along his ribs, tongue darting out to flick his nipple every once in awhile in a manner that was driving Misha absolutely insane.

Hands and mouths and skin were _everywhere,_ sucking and kissing and licking, biting. It was too much _sensation._ It made him vibrate, blood simmering hot under his skin. Mouth parting as he gasped and panted, caught in a haze of pleasure and going completely out of his mind with it.

The water wings had long been empty, the only other clothing he had been wearing, the pink panties, were still wrapped around his ankles.

Dark green eyes flicked up to his as Jensen’s hot breath ghosted over his weeping cock.

“Please,” Misha begged, wanton and needy.

Greg’s fingers stroked slowly over his prostate again, just as Dylan’s mouth closed around a nipple and Lucy’s lips wrapped around his middle finger, sucking slowly up the length of it. Jensen’s long tongue ran up the underside of his cock at the same time and an animalistic cry tore out of Misha as he threw his head back.

Jensen sucked him down with a passion, little moans and whimpers and hums vibrating around his cock as his head bobbed up and down vigorously. Teeth were scraping along his tender nipples then, fingers crooked and slamming into him.

 _“Ah, ah,_ I-” another moan shuddered through his entire body. “I’m not gonna last, my children.”

He was greeted with a chorus of, “Come for us, daddy.” _“Please,_ daddy, wanna see you come so bad.” “Wanna swallow your delicious come, daddy.”

 _“Oh,”_ he cried, a sob of pleasure ripped out of him as jerked, writhing on the floor of the jail cell as his orgasm crashed through him, pleasure radiating through every cell of his body.

Misha spread his arms out wide and let the four of them curl up against his spent and sated body, bare skin exposed for them to nuzzle into.

“Amen.”


End file.
